There comes a time when the hive mind of tabloid readers swells into what Alexis de Tocqueville declared would be the downfall of America: the Tyranny of the Majority. In regards to Gigli, mere rumors swelled into a campaign to stomp out Martin Brest's latest film. Between the mere two-week play date in the greater DC area, to the ridiculous skew in the IMDB voting, it is obvious that Gigli has become the subject of a witch-hunt. This is sad, for what the maddening crowds are missing is a film that hearkens back to Brest's more successful film Midnight Run, adding in a quirky romance with East Coast gangsters under L.A.'s palm trees. No, it is not perfect, but it is light-years more coherent than a Dude, Where's My Car, more emotionally real than an I Am Sam, and far better cast than a Road to Perdition. There were no witch-hunts for those films, and one was not warranted here. If you still have the chance, think for yourself and see this film, then see if you can still declare it a failure. I declare it a reasonable success, which is far better effort than most of what we get in American cinema these days.
